It’s all light

Apparently, I may be giving out the wrong idea with my posts, specially the ones about happiness. I feel that I should redress this. The best way to do that would probably be to stop posting but here I am and here I go again.

I write about happiness mostly because I see it as a concept that I have for the most part, misunderstood. I have chased it, yearned for it, coveted it for most of my life but only ever managing to grasp at a mere flicker of light in the shadows, something seen in the corner of my eye only to disappear as soon as I turn towards it. Happiness is missed as soon as I look for it.

Talking with some people recently made me aware that I may have unintentionally suggested that happiness is a goal, something to have and hold on to till the day we die and that I have somehow achieved this through photography. If that is the case than I apologise for this is not at all what I wish to convey. The joy which photography brings to me has in reality, nothing to do with photography itself but rather with a lesson brought on by the act of making photographs. The joy comes simply from seeing whatever I’m looking at for what it is. Without labels, without biases, without judgement. The point to life, if there is one, may simply be to live every moment fully even if those moments involve pain or sorrow or mourning. Photography may have brought me this understanding but I do not need photography to live its lesson. For that I just need to do what I do, what ever that may be in the moment, be it fun or boring, joyful or painful, safe or scary. The full gamut of human emotions is up for grabs. I don’t want to run away from any of them or run towards any of them but I do find it worthwhile to be aware of them, to live them fully because it is within them that the richness of life exists. After all, it is my emotions that colour my life.

Having said this I also want to add that I am not suggesting that there is anything wrong with seeking happiness. If that is what you do then just do what you do. I am only saying that it is no longer what I do. It is not my goal to be happy, it is not my goal to be aware, it is not my goal to have or not have goals. For me it is all simply life living itself. Seeing things as I do will not suit everyone or perhaps even anyone. It is certainly not as exciting as it can get for some but I am suggesting that there is something to be said in finding balance which is effectively all I’m saying. Find the right balance between aperture and shutter speed and you’ll get a sweet shot of life. Regardless of the subject matter.

If what I write makes no sense please understand that I have no real idea who I am, or what I’m doing here, or what anything means but neither does my camera and it doesn’t seem upset by that. So I take a lesson from my camera which just does what it does and in turn, as I’ve already mentioned, I just do what I do.

I cannot tell you that everything in life will be all right, but photography has taught me that where life is concerned, it is always… all light.

Nothing left undone

 

Occasionally I get asked what draws me to photography and I give my usual answer: it’s fun and depending on who is doing the asking I might add that it offers me a means to look inward while looking outward. This blog’s purpose, if it’s had one at all, has been in part to explore these two aspects of photography, fun and introspection (mostly the introspection part).

Self-knowledge through introspection is not particularly important to me though it may well have been once upon a time. These days I see it more as something that is useful, interesting and, well, fun. Being able to combine this with photography has simply been a bonus and I must say that the two complement each other nicely. The fun part of photography isn’t hard to explain or understand but how it helps me learn something about myself is not always apparent. Perhaps because it is not simply that photography helps me in self-understanding so much as it helps me perceive the relationship between self and life.

There is no denying that I have all too often been caught up in this little drama I call my life. It’s a compelling story to be sure even if it’s the epitome of mediocrity as far as life stories go but the reality is that for the vast majority of it my life is hardly what one would describe as dramatic. And yet all too often, I have, with the encouragement of the voices in my head, gotten myself ensnared in the perceived drama, riding the emotional roller-coaster as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. And yet, to me, it’s always been a ride that has held a hint of insanity.

Fortunately the older I get the less often I find myself on the roller-coaster. Now it could be a coming-of-age thing or a case of I’ve-seen-it-all-before but without wanting to sound esoteric I cannot help feeling that photography, or the practice of it, has played a part in getting me off the turbulent ride.

Photography has had an undeniable impact on how I view life. A craft that depends so much on seeing — regardless of what senses you use to see — has inevitably changed my perception of the world around me. If you practice a craft long enough it seems unavoidable that some of the lessons will spill over into everyday life. Take composition for example. Composing a scene within a frame is one of the most important aspect of making a photograph (along with getting the exposure right though these days the technology takes care of that most of the time). Composition requires moving around, left, right, up, down, forward, back, seeing the theme from all angles. It needs correct alignment of the subject matter and correct framing, understanding the relationships between all the elements including empty space and whatever elements are kept outside of the frame. It needs a decision to go with or to disregard the rules of composition, knowing that the rules, the beliefs one might say, are fabrications that can be held onto or ignored. In my early days of photography I did all these things, consciously, but now there is no thinking about it. It just happens. When a photo comes my way the voices in my head hush up, thoughts stop momentarily, and there is an insight… a wordless… insight. It’s wordless because the insight comes through in the doing and the seeing not in the thinking and the talking.

When composing a photograph, there arises an awareness of the bigger picture, a realisation that what I am seeing within the frame is but a minuscule fragment of something much too large for the feeble mind to grasp and so the mind stops. In the quietness of composing a photograph I grasp, at some level, my connection to the whole and rather than being overwhelmed with a feeling of insignificance, I rest in blissful silence and emptiness, I rest in doing and seeing. No thoughts, no words.

And so I have found it useful to apply this in life. There is little (if anything) in life that falls under my control. I say this matter-of-factly and not in a defeated or submissive way. It’s just how I see it even if it appears otherwise. I can make plans full of good intentions, I can have projects, I can choose a career path, I can set goals, I can even believe that these plans, these choices, these goals, are mine and not products of biases, filters and memories brought on by life itself but there is no getting away from the fact that life can throw a curve ball at any time and often does. But that curve ball is not separate from this life I call my own. I see it as a fragment of the larger picture and with the right composition I understand how it fits in the whole. Shit happens, joy happens, whatever comes, it will pass. Like a tide. I work through it, I’m grateful for it, I might even make a photograph of it, but I don’t dwell on the thought of it.

No need for the roller-coaster ride.

I just rest in the doing and nothing is left undone.

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“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” – Shakespeare from Hamlet (Act 2, Scene 2)

A probable chance of precipitation

Her chameleon skin umbrella was effective at making her blend in with her surroundings

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Another thought as incomplete as the last but this time related to a specific photograph…

Occasionally things just fall into place, seemingly by luck or divine intervention. I would subscribe to luck over divine intervention but since both pertain to superstition I prefer to think of it in terms of probability.

While walking through the cobblestone streets of Orleans in France I came across the mural in the photograph. I’m a sucker for trompe l’oeil artistry and so found myself stopped in my tracks looking over this particular artwork. I had no intention of photographing it; as much as I enjoyed it I wasn’t driven to capture it. I was happy to just consign it to memory and move on.

But then something happened.

A single drop of rain landed on my cheek just beneath my eye, catching my eyelashes and making me blink a few times. In hindsight it is difficult to know exactly what changed but something did. I found myself turning on my camera, bringing it up to my eye and composing to make a photograph. Looking through the viewfinder I noticed the colours of the cobblestones on the street and how they matched the colours of the mural. I noticed the lines and curves of the seats and the steps blending in with the curves of the painting but still I was holding off from pressing down on the shutter button. If someone had asked me what I was waiting for I would not have known what to say. It just felt like a pattern was forming and a piece was missing. Then suddenly, my eye still glued to the viewfinder, a woman walks into the frame and puts up her umbrella, perhaps also having just had a drop of rain land on her cheek. Despite being a little startled by her unexpected appearance, my finger pressed down on the shutter button and the image was made.

The dynamics of the scene is completely changed by the appearance of the woman and her umbrella. The pattern on the umbrella matches the cobblestones, the colours blends in perfectly and the curves, formed by the ribs, are there too. Without the woman and her umbrella this photo would not have had the same impact on me.

So what made me take a photo when I had only just previously decided not to? What made me wait for the woman to enter the frame? Was it luck? Coincidence? Does life play with dice or not? Albert Einstein, at least I think it was him, once said, and I’m paraphrasing, we can live as if nothing is a miracle or we can live as if everything is a miracle. Meaning that as far as the laws of science refer to reality they are not certain and as far as they are certain they do not refer to reality.

The reality is that I’ll never answer these questions. I doubt mind and language have the capacity to express let alone understand the full picture — if you’ll excuse the pun — but I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s luck, divinity or fate but if pressed I would have to say that life is simply a matter of probability.

While the game of life may appear to be played in accordance to a set of rules, I get the feeling that the game is fixed, at least within the constraints of probability. Like tossing a coin. Prior to each toss you can’t be certain of the outcome but given enough tosses you know the outcome is fixed. That’s what probability does. But what were the odds that I would be standing there, camera in hand, when the woman entered the scene? Too great to be anything else but a coincidence? Well then, what were the odds that the dust that came out of the Big Bang, 13 billion years ago, would, over those billions of years, come together to form an umbrella, or a camera, or an eyeball? I mean how mind-boggling is it that we are here at all? Mind-boggling because as I said before, I doubt mind can grasp the full reality of what’s happening here and now. But just as there was a probable chance of precipitation that day in Orleans, that photograph was in all probability, a done deal even 13 billion years ago. After all, events with billion-to-one odds happen every minute of the day do they not?

Accepting that there are no answers to my questions, at least none that I could ever hope to comprehend, I live as if every thing is a wonder. It might just improve my odds of making better photographs.

A random observation

Reality was beginning to blur and things were not as they appeared.

She was quite sure that the fabric of space/time had been torn.

And she only had her insatiable introspection to blame for that.

In flight from myself

I was recently reminded of a quote attributed to Oscar Wilde, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” The notion of living life is a subtle one which I have all too often taken for granted and taking life for granted equates to simply existing rather than living. I have taken it for granted not because living life is what I do but because it is what I think I do. Beliefs, opinions, biases, prejudices, labels, judgements, knowledge, it is all of these things and more that define me, it is all of these things that define where I start and where I end. But all of these things I know to be nothing more than thoughts. No matter how I slice and dice it, all of these things are mind-matter and attachment to these beliefs and opinions may well prevent life from being lived fully. Equally, these beliefs and opinions may well short-circuit creative flow.

Just as my beliefs and opinions invariably create filters on all my senses that prevent me from experiencing life fully, they also create interference to the creative flow. Look at a young child full of mindless enthusiasm, using her fingers to spread paint all over a large sheet of butcher’s paper, not caring about rules on aesthetics or design, without any understanding of colour schemes, without a care. Instead she is full of giggles at the feel of soft mushy paint between her fingers, full of surprise at seeing the blue paint turn to green when her fingers run across a yellow blob. This alone makes her clap her hands in delight and then seeing the resulting paint splatter rain across her art work, she erupts in shrieks of laughter. No judgements, no opinions, no beliefs, just moments of mindless fun.

In those moments she is living life.

Years ago during a religious lesson at school the teacher, a Christian Brother, asked the class what was meant by the phrase “God created us in his own image”. The apathy in this class was always palpable but without thinking I shot my hand up and replied, “It means we’re all creators too”. That response promptly got me a trip to the principal’s office and a lunch time detention. I never found out exactly why my response elicited such a punishment and while I hold no beliefs where gods are concerned if some god did indeed create us in its own image then I would maintain that my comment still holds some value; we are all creators.

Technology is allowing us to be creative in ways that were not previously possible. It’s as if technology has opened a flood gate to creativity and everyone is feeling the pulsing flow even when they are not fully conscious of what is happening. Digital photography, digital painting, digital music, it’s all so easy to do now. Is it all good? Does that really matter? When someone snaps a photo with their phone and manipulates it with some so-called app to make it look like some retro Holga image; is it art? Well, maybe, maybe not but again what does it matter? What matters is that it is creative and it came out of nowhere and it need not be judged to be anything in particular. It just happened and in the happening of it there is likely to be joy and bliss, there may even be surprise and giggles and laughter, at the very least there is mindless fun. Such moments of creativity are simple and honest. Sometimes, even if only for a second, there is a sense of selflessness where beliefs and opinions are suspended or disengaged and somehow the self knows itself to be the whole.

In those moments life is being lived.

Of course technology doesn’t only allow us to be creative, it also offers us the opportunity to be distracted. The sheer volume of up-to-the-minute information can be overwhelming but the instant feedback to our ideas and thoughts can also be captivating and addictive. However let me clarify that I am not suggesting that technology is to blame for all this distraction. Distractions have always been around. Over one hundred years ago Nietzsche wrote of his peers, “One thinks with a watch in one’s hand, even as one eats one’s midday meal while reading the latest news of the stock market”. But Nietzsche was careful not to cast the blame on clocks or markets. “We labour at our daily work more ardently and thoughtlessly than is necessary to sustain our life, because it is even more necessary not to have leisure to stop and think. Haste is universal because everyone is in flight from himself.” (From Untimely Meditations 1876). It is the last sentence which for me says it all and I could easily swap the word “haste” with “distraction”. However it has become clear to me that distraction, or haste for that matter, comes at a cost. I may fear that if I don’t read every tweet, every Facebook update, every RSS feed, every email, then I will miss out on something important but the irony is that I do in fact, miss out on something important because I try so hard to keep up with all the input. Within the distractions and the haste of everyday living lies the illusion of escape. When I fleet from one tweet to another then to Facebook or email, checking SMS messages in between and all along reading snippets from articles in my RSS feed I escape from the drudgery of my life, the mundane job, the aches and the pains, the problems, the worries. With every hit from Twitter I manage to keep my troubles away. And that’s a good thing. Or so it seems. As it turns out though, the only thing I am escaping from is Life.

Immersed in distractions I simply exist. Lost in distraction I am in flight from myself.

However, just as I do not blame technology for providing endless distractions,  I do not wish to suggest that all these distractions are somehow bad or evil. Like everything else they are what they are and passing some judgement on them is, well, just compounding the real issue. Instead I have found it useful to simply understand why I seek distractions and gaining such understanding only needs a slight twist of perception, a mere hint of awareness. It is not the distractions per se that prevent me from living, it is my reluctance or maybe even my fear of facing the drudgery of my life, the mundane job, the aches and the pains, the problems, the worries. Or as it is sometimes said, the fear of facing my demons. Deciding to focus more ardently and be less distracted isn’t a solution as the effort needed to focus will only become another distraction. Being aware of what I am trying to escape from on the other hand provides a release which defies logic. Facing my problems and issues, my fears, fully with complete awareness and without judgement, belief or opinion, allows me to see them for what they are namely, thoughts, mind-matter, of no substance other than what I attribute to them and once scrutinized in such a manner the fear associated with them disappears as does the need to escape. This may seem like I am simply deluding myself, after all the problems do not magically go away. The aches and pains are still there, the bills still need to be paid, the mundane 9 to 5 job has not become any more exciting, the desire to escape hasn’t diminished. Nothing has changed other than the realisation that Life is not an experience. Life is the experiencing itself. Life is the light that shines on the experience and the experiencer both of which arise in the presence of awareness.

Immersed in this experiencing, life is lived. Lost in the experiencing, creativity flows.

As a photographer I see a reflection, a subject looking at an object but with a slight twist of perception, a mere hint of awareness it becomes clear that the photographer and the reflection are simply arising in this eternal presence of awareness and the reality is that there is only seeing happening. In other words, there is only creativity flowing, life being lived.

Life and creative flow, essentially the same thing and just as Life is the experiencing, Life is the creating.

In the process of creation, rather than take flight from myself I give flight to every idea and belief I have about this story I call my life and take joy in the mindless fun of creating, the freedom of living. Even though outwardly nothing has changed it’s all seen to be just as it should be.

The fine art of appreciation – Part 2

Part one on the fine art of appreciation.

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There’s a growing expectancy these days, at least in the western world, that many things should be free or at the very least, easily and cheaply available; a mere click of a button and our wish is fulfilled. Free software, free music, free videos and images, legally acquired or not, it’s all available with little effort. My hardest task as a parent is instilling a sense of value and appreciation in my children for those things that they take at times, all too casually. Value, not just in the sense of monetary worth but in terms of significance to one’s life and appreciation, not simply in terms of being grateful but in terms of awareness or mindfulness.

When given a sonnet by Shakespeare, my son can “get the gist” with a quick search on the Internet. There is no need for him to appreciate Shakespeare’s work when someone else has already worked it out. Trying to explain to him the value in arriving at his own understanding through his own effort is difficult. It’s possible that Shakespeare is no longer relevant to today’s generation or perhaps he no longer speaks to the youth but my son’s attitude, common among his peers as far as I can tell, is the same even with contemporary artists and poets. It’s all taken at face value and quickly judged as either cool or boring. Of course it’s not to say that everything must have meaning deeper than the superficial. I do not doubt that some people create works only for entertainment; pure and simple and for that I am grateful.  But I’m digressing, best I return to the topic on hand.

Appreciation of art does not come from someone else. I can not acquire an appreciation for art from the Internet. I seriously doubt I can acquire it from a course where I can learn all sorts of fancy words that will allow me to form an opinion and sound ever so clever next time I visit a gallery. As far as I can tell an appreciation of art is achieved by cultivating right practice and right mindfulness, in the same way as the artist goes about creating his work. So just as the artist must know how to impart the message, I must know how to cultivate the right attitude to receive it.

In a previous comment, Paul Lester suggested that “Art is the finger” using the Zen analogy that the finger-pointing at the moon is not the moon. Art is there pointing at something which the artist experienced and wishes to share. Simply looking at the art though is like looking at the finger when I’m wanting to see the moon. To see where the finger is pointing takes effort, albeit no great effort but effort nonetheless as I must turn my attention from the finger to the object it points at. For some reason however I often remain transfixed with the finger, perhaps in forming an opinion so quickly as the mind tends to do, I close myself off from the actual beauty that I hunger for.

We are fortunate, at least in the Western world, to live at a time where access to seemingly unlimited talent and creativity is but a few clicks away and yet I hear people talk about being bored or say they are unmoved by anything they see. Some almost demand to be awed. Interestingly enough, if I suggest that perhaps the problem lies with them I get a reaction similar to the one that arose in me when my Sifu made a similar statement. And so I usually refrain from suggesting any such thing. Instead I work on developing an equanimity which will prevent me from swinging wildly between indifference and resentment. An equanimity which will allow me to look beyond the opinions that form so readily in the mind so that I may be drawn into the masterpiece, letting it become a living reality that I may see it’s soul rather than the technique. In so doing, the art, the artist and I become one. Across space and time a sympathetic communion of spirits takes place. It is, I feel, the least I can do for the artist who wants nothing more than to take me into his confidence and share that which he can only express through his craft. The true master does not seek accolades or opinions, he does not seek ”hits” on his art nor does he hope it will go “viral”, he does not try for fame and fortune. He creates because it is beyond his ability to do otherwise. He creates art because he has something to share and he knows the limitations language imposes on our understanding, limitations which art does not recognise. As Diego Rivera exclaims to Frida Kahlo when she asks him for his “serious opinion” on her art, “What do you care about my opinion? If you’re a real painter, you’ll paint because you can’t live without painting. You’ll paint till you die.” (from the film, Frida 2002)

It is regretful to some extent, that so much of the enthusiasm for art today is devoid of any real feeling. By my reckoning, and I accept that my perception may be flawed, it appears that there is more desire for the costly than for the refined, more passion for technical perfection than for introspection. And maybe, just maybe, the ghastly works which are paraded as art in so many galleries of modern art owe their existence simply to the deafening absence of genuine appreciation.

Silence is, after all, the context for the deepest appreciation of art: the only important evaluations are finally, personal, interior ones. - Robert Adams -”Beauty in Photography” 1996

I mentioned earlier that we have access to more art than ever before in the history of the world and yet I have an uncomfortable feeling that our art may become barren as it goes unappreciated, adorned only with mundane opinions and perfunctory judgements. And should this happen, should we lose the ability to commune with the masters of art, we will surely find ourselves starved of beauty.

The fine art of appreciation

This post is about a subject of great interest to me, the subject of  art appreciation. I started writing this post while I was still writing “By all definitions“. I wrote them in conjunction because in what feels like a life-long search for a definition of art it became apparent to me that art has two facets. For some work to be deemed art it must not only be created as art but it must also be appreciated as art. So this post can be thought of as part two in my attempt to find a definition for art.

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There is a lot of talk and debate around the question “what is art?” and much of it often ends in cynicism or confusion. The confusion is understandable because while art is generally easily identified it is not readily defined. The cynicism however is unfortunate but equally understandable. As a regular frequenter of galleries, both virtual and real, I do come across some art works that leaves me wondering what on earth the curator was thinking when choosing to display them as art. It doesn’t help when such questionable pieces of art come with a hefty price tag. And therein lies part of the problem. Money, specially large amounts of it, clouds judgement. People intuitively know this and so when an art work comes with a price tag but fails to “speak” to us we are left with two options, either we conclude that we are stupid when it comes to art or that we are being taken for a ride. Either option may leave a bad taste in our mouths. Speaking for myself I don’t feel stupid though I accept that there are many things I am ignorant about and art may be one of them. As for being taken for a ride, well that can happen anywhere, any time.

Then there are people who argue that everything is art specially when it’s been made with an old Holga or some recycled rubbish but that is no different to calling all children special. All children may well be special but no sooner do you say so that the word “special” loses all meaning. While it may sound idyllic, living in a world where art is all around created with the simple construction of a stick figure on a restaurant napkin the reality is that if everything is art then nothing is art or at least none of it is special.

Anyway, my interest in art appreciation started many years ago in a rather circuitous manner. As a student of Tong Long Kung Fu, a martial-art in the style of the praying mantis I attended a class which met in an old church hall. I used to do two classes in a row, three hours all up of hard physical training. Keeping to tradition our teacher did not allow us to use protective clothing so much of the practice, which was often performed against an opponent, was done with full body contact. After three hours we were usually bruised and swollen but there was a Chinese herbalist who spent the lesson preparing creams and lotions for us to apply to our battered bodies at the end of the practice. We never paid much attention to him though we were always grateful for his potions as they worked wonders. One day our teacher had us spend the first hour of our training sitting in front of our resident herbalist and told us to pay attention to everything he did so we could learn something. The herbalist never said a word. He never looked at us. He simply went about his business of sorting and measuring ingredients, using his mortar and pestle, mixing and stirring. After an hour our teacher told us to start training and everyone was relieved to get off the floor and into some action. Fortunately I wasn’t so easily distracted and decided to ask the teacher why he’d made us watch the herbalist who had taught us nothing. His response was “Are you so sure that he taught you nothing? Have you considered the possibility that it is you who learned nothing?”. At this point the ego-mind riled up, “What are you talking about? He didn’t say a word! How am I suppose to learn anything when he didn’t utter a single word?!” Of course I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t stupid and knew better than to talk back to Sifu.

Over the following weeks I found myself watching the herbalist in-between routines. Every week he followed the same steps, measuring, mixing, stirring. What had I missed? Eventually I gave up. After one particular lesson I went up to the herbalist and said to him “Sifu once told me that I could learn something from you but try as I may I have no clue as to what it is I am supposed to learn.” His answer was the infuriating kind that we so often got from our Sifu, “Until you appreciate what you see you will continue to be clueless.” And, as if anticipating my response, he continued, “Unfortunately, appreciation cannot be taught.”

Appreciation, or more specifically, Art appreciation, is somewhat of a mystery. At least to me though apparently not to About.com where it states “No big mystery here: Art Appreciation simply means being able to look at works and form your own opinions.” Perhaps I am overcomplicating things but I know that as soon as  I see something, anything, an opinion is formed. As soon as I consciously look at an art work, thoughts enter the mind and depending on which memories are evoked, which biases are triggered an opinion arises. It may be expanded upon at a later stage but the basic premise is locked in. So if art appreciation is the ability to form an opinion, well then, it’s true, everything is art because I can’t help but have an opinion on everything I see, even if it’s one of indifference. I’m being facetious. In their definition About.com are most likely making the assumption that the “works” have already been identified as art. This, as you might suspect, does not sit well with me as it does not bring me any closer to understanding art.

As I see it, an art work comprises of three elements. The art work itself of course, the artist and the audience. In art, true art, Art with a capital ‘A’ if you will, mind speaks to mind. It does so because the artist, master of his craft, created his work with “right practice” and “right mindfulness”. Right practice is about the technicalities of the chosen craft, it is about achieving full competency with technique and with one’s tools of trade, be it a paintbrush, a camera, a musical instrument or even one’s own body. This competency needs to be honed in to the point that it can be completely forgotten about in the process of creation. By ‘forgotten’ I mean no longer done consciously but at some deeper level where the artist becomes one with the technique. It is usually at this point that right mindfulness comes into the process. Right mindfulness is not about thinking the right thoughts and it’s not about focusing or concentrating. It’s about flow, it’s about allowing the art work to evolve out of nothingness, it’s about being aware.

But what of the audience? Does the responsibility of giving meaning to art fall solely with the artist? Art may well speak the unspoken, reveal the unseen, stir up long-forgotten memories, bring forth yearnings and return hope that once may have been smothered by fear but how much of this comes through if I fail to listen or if I am incapable of looking deeper than the most superficial layers? Did the herbalist fail to impart some wisdom or did I fail to open myself up to it?

Part 2…